


Maybe I’m Amazed

by octothorpetopus



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: (kind of), Character Study, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Making Up, POV Benny Watts, Post-Canon, Sleeping Together, Working Out My Feelings Through Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:22:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27663308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octothorpetopus/pseuds/octothorpetopus
Summary: When Beth gets home after her World Championship win, Benny is waiting for her, hat in hand. Literally.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 12
Kudos: 318





	Maybe I’m Amazed

Honestly, Benny isn’t really sure what he’s doing when he says goodbye to his friends, who haven’t left his place since that morning when he called up the hotel in Moscow, gets in his tiny car, and just drives, all the way to Kentucky, eleven hours straight. He's only sure that he needs to be there when she arrives home, to see her before life goes back to normal, although that might never happen. She is the youngest world champion ever, but instead of the jealousy Benny expected himself to feel, the envy he has always tried to suppress whenever someone his age or younger finds a way to be better than he is, there's nothing but pride rising in his chest.

He plays games over in his mind to keep busy while he drives, Beth's games, the Moscow ones, looking for holes. There are none.

He stops once for gas in West Virginia and sees her on the front page of the paper, sitting across from the president in the Oval Office, his king down on its side, resigned. He buys the paper and leaves it sitting on his passenger seat, where Beth herself had sat when they drove to New York only a few weeks previous, or so it seemed.

He has to look Beth up to find her address, a house buried deep within the Lexington suburbs. He’s been in a dozen towns just like Lexington this year alone, only now he looks around with fresh eyes. Instead of seeing tediously identical houses lined up along tediously empty streets, he sees the city that created a genius, the school where she won the Kentucky state championships, the pharmacy she told him she stole her first copy of Chess Review from. _B_ _eth Harmon Was Here_ is written in invisible ink on every perfectly manicured lawn and freshly-poured concrete sidewalk. It’s funny, really, that, to Benny, Lexington means her. He doesn’t associate cities with people, never has, although there have been dozens of women (and a fair number of men) scattered across the country, mixed in with the booze and the gambling and the matches he won so easily until Beth arrived.

In his mind, cities are linked to the games he’s played there. He remembers playing Alekhine’s Defense in San Diego, the rook and pawn endgame in Boise, and the Trompowsky Attack in Cleveland. In Lexington, though, it isn’t his games, or his moves, it’s hers. Benny has studied every game she has ever played, and he sees her moves in the streets, on unseen boards, an entire world paved in black and white tiles.

He pulls his VW Beetle up to the curb along a narrow street that looks just like the hundreds of others he’s driven through. He double-checks the address he has scribbled down on a scrap of paper, and sure enough, it’s the right house. Like everything else in Lexington, the house reminds Benny of Beth. Quiet, but mesmerizing.

There is no car in the driveway, and there are no lights on inside, which has to mean she isn’t home yet. Benny really can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. He finds his hat and jacket in the backseat and puts them on as he exits the car. Somewhere down the street, a radio is turned up far too loud, and “Happy Together” by The Turtles echoes along the otherwise silent block.

Beth never told him much about her life in Lexington. Benny knows she's an orphan, adopted when she was 15, and that her adoptive mother died in after she lost to Borgov the first time. He knows that she drinks too much and she’s been playing chess since she was 9. That is all Beth has revealed to him and he has never dared to ask more, but he can imagine it’s not that different from his own life as a teenage chess player. Lonely. Disorganized. Only Benny spent his brief period of normalcy, before he discovered chess, or at least before he discovered how gifted he was at chess, in Albuquerque, with both of his parents alive and well, even today. Given Beth’s childhood, bouncing from home to the orphanage to this very house, Benny understands why Beth is so single-minded about chess, why she wouldn’t come back to New York, why she’d rather drink all day than sleep beside him in his shitty basement apartment, why she begged him to come to Russia with her anyway. Beth lives at the mercy of both her own self-reliance and her need for connection, creating a contradiction out of her control.

If he lived a life where he couldn’t rely on anyone, and where anyone he relied on betrayed him, Benny might be the very same way, but he has parents. He even has a sister, six years younger and fresh out of college. He lives on his own because he likes to, and flits around the world to play chess because it’s fun. He cannot blame Beth for not being the same way.

His hat blocks the sun from Benny’s face as he strolls up the front walk. Pink flowered bushes line the foundation, still green even in the dead of winter. Kentucky’s nicer than New York that way. Not as hot as New Mexico, certainly, but warm enough he doesn't have to wear the jacket if he doesn't want to. He’s sure she’s not home yet, it’s pretty obvious, but he knocks anyway, pounding the cast-iron knocker on the blue-painted door. While he waits uselessly on the welcome mat, he takes off his hat, releasing his messy hair in a blond waterfall around his face. If he’d thought ahead he might have gotten a haircut before he came, or trimmed his goatee. But he hasn’t done either, and so he tries as best he can to comb his hair down with his fingers, and sits on the steps, folding his lanky legs in front of him. In his hands is his hat, which is worn from years of use. He’ll have to replace it before long, which is a shame. He’s had it since he was 19, along with his jacket. They were the first things he bought with his prize money from the U.S. Open (he hadn’t won that year, only second place, but he came back wearing that same jacket and hat and shot the moon the next year. They have since become his lucky charms.)

Benny has been sitting on the stoop for maybe 15 minutes when the taxicab pulls up to the curb just in front of his car. He can see her before she even gets out, through the tinted back window. She steps out, and walks around to the back to retrieve her bags without even looking at the house. Beth is halfway up the front walk before she even sees him, but when she does, she stops mid-step, the swagger that surrounds her faltering and leaving her just the girl he met once in Cincinnati. Benny stands, squeezing his hat even tighter in his white-knuckled fists.

”Congratulations,” is all he manages to say before he is nearly bowled over by Beth, who has dropped her bags and races towards him, catching him in a hug so tight it knocks the air out of his lungs. Unable to move his arms, Benny stands there and allows her to hug him, shifting uncomfortably. He has to admit that he didn’t expect that kind of warm welcome, and he probably doesn’t deserve it. Beth steps back, her face turning slightly red.

”Thank you.” She picks up her bags and carries them onto the porch. She’s dressed for travel, but still fashionable in high-waisted black pants and a blush pink blouse. Benny is dressed like he always is, and is suddenly self-conscious. Beth sits on the steps where he was sitting when she arrived and gestures for him to sit beside her.

”You played well,” Benny says, and then wants to slap himself. Talking too much about chess is how he got himself into this position in the first place. He should have started with the apology. “The best you’ve ever played, I think. Which is saying something.” To his surprise, Beth doesn’t balk.

”I wasn’t sure for a while. The Queen’s Gambit is-“

”It’s called a gambit for a reason.”

”True.” Benny chokes on his own words. Apologies have never come easily to him, but Beth Harmon has helped him realize a great many things about himself, one of which is that he can change, and if he ever wants to have a meaningful relationship with another person, the kind he thought he might get with her once upon a New York evening, he has to change.

”I’m sorry, Beth.”

”For what?” Benny shrugs.

”For everything,” he says, and brushes a lock of red hair, which glows gold in the fading sun, behind her ear.

“What was that?” she asks.

“I like your hair,” Benny replies, and kisses her, once, gently. Beth doesn’t move, towards him or away, but she doesn’t tense up either. She just sits beside him on the steps and allows him to kiss her. He pulls away after a few seconds, and her wide-eyed expression makes him wish he’d just apologized and left it at that.

”Would you like to come inside?”

"What?"

"I'm inviting you in. I'll make you some dinner ," Beth says as she unlocks the door, her back to Benny. "Or something." Benny looks back at his car, then at the worn-out gray hat in his hands, and then back at Beth. Without saying a word, he follows her up the steps and into the house."You can put your coat and hat over there." She gestures to a coat rack by the door. Benny sheds his lucky charms and hangs them up on one hook, and then follows Beth into the living room. Without his hat to fiddle with, his hands feel useless, so he occupies himself by twisting his rings around his fingers.

"I like your house," Benny says, and immediately feels quite stupid. He can't seem to say the right thing, not now, not ever.

"Thanks. I redecorated after-" Beth clears her throat, ending it there. "Which I probably shouldn't have done, considering it was a perfectly nice house beforehand and it took up most of my savings and-"

"Beth, I know I-"

"It's fine." She hurries away from him, leaving her bags at the foot of the stairs and disappearing into what must be the kitchen. There is an overstuffed arm chair on one side of the fireplace, and that's where Benny sits, perched on the edge, discomfort settling in his stomach like bad seafood.

"This must have been a nice house for a kid," he calls, unsure if she can hear him or not. At this point, he's talking to fill the silence. Silence has never bothered him before, oftentimes he prefers it, but right now, silence seems unbearable. "With just you and your parents."

"It was just me and my mom, " Beth responds, muffled. "And I wasn't much of a kid when I lived here."

"Still," Benny says, and she reappears, holding two plates. "An only child in this big house? I can't imagine the kind of shit I would have gotten up to." Beth shakes her head and sets one of the plates, which has a sandwich, a pile of chips, and a narrow slice of cake on it, in front of him.

"I didn't get up to a lot when I was younger. Chess. School, occasionally, when tournaments were slow." That doesn't surprise Benny, for the most part, although by her drinking habits, he would have guessed Beth was something of a party girl from early on. Evidently not. "How about you?" she asks, deflecting. Benny doesn't mind.

"I grew up in New Mexico." Beth raises her eyebrows and takes a bite of her sandwich. "We lived in a two-bedroom townhouse in Albuquerque. I shared a room with my sister until I was seventeen and officially moved out."

"You have a sister?" Benny nods.

"Yeah. Lily."

"Are you close?"

"Not really. I go home for Christmas most years, but I don't really talk to any of them. We didn't fall out or anything. I just prefer my life in New York." Beth snorts bitterly.

"Sorry. I just can't imagine having a whole family and just... not talking to them. If my parents were- well, I think I'd talk to them every day."

"We're very different people in that way, I think." She nods.

"We are. We're very different." Abruptly, she pushes away her sandwich. "How about a game?"

"You gonna kick my ass again?" Beth shrugs.

"I am the World Champion."

"Alright, yeah, go get your board. I'm not betting on anything today, though. You absolutely wiped me out in New York. I could barely make rent." Beth winces and stands up.

"Suit yourself." She disappears again, this time up the stairs. Benny tosses a chip into his mouth and stands himself, pacing in front of the unlit fireplace. Although it’s even warmer in the house than it was outside, goosebumps spread up and down his bare arms. The bookshelves around him are stacked with chess books, all of which he’s read. A single photo of Beth and her mother sits on the mantle, slightly faded where the sun hits it through the front window in the afternoons. Benny wishes he’d taken a picture with Beth while they were in New York, while they were still in that stage of circling each other, not like wild animals but like dancers, like the early moves of a chess game before either player has captured a piece.

On the coffee table, there is a copy of Life, with Beth on the cover. Benny has the same one somewhere in his apartment, buried under piles of Chess Review and old newspapers. She looks exactly the same in a lot of ways. Unsmiling, precise, sophisticated. But the difference is that she smiles now, at least sometimes, and she allows herself to relax, if only for a few moments in between tournaments. 

“I’ve got it.” Benny turns around to see her descending the stairs, holding in her hands a folded chess board with a box balanced on top holding the pieces and a clock on top of that. “You mind clearing the table?” He sets their plates aside on the mantle and then sits back down across from Beth, who has her fists out in front of her. In a wordless ritual they have both learned well, he taps her left hand, revealing the white piece. They set up their pieces in rapid succession on opposite sides. Beth curls her legs under her in her chair and blows a piece of hair out of her eyes. Without breaking eye contact with Benny, she taps her side of the clock, starting his. Benny cracks his knuckles and moves his first piece. He hits the clock. _Tap._ Beth makes a move. _Tap._ They go back and forth, moving pieces, stopping and starting time. Sometimes, Beth takes only a few seconds to move, and Benny only has enough time to register the piece she’s played before he makes a move of his own. Sometimes, though, she needs to think about her move. Ordinarily, Benny would take that time to analyze her game. He should do that, anyway, but he doesn’t. Instead, he analyzes her, the way her chin rests on top of her folded fingers, her hazel eyes sweeping the board. She’s a hypnotic player, moving gracefully and swiftly and taking her opponent out before they even know what’s hit them. 

Within a half hour, both Benny and Beth are out of their seats and on the floor. With every move Beth makes, she inches closer to the table, to the board, to Benny. There is no sound but the ticking of the clock, the soft clack of wood pieces on the plastic board, and Benny’s own heartbeat in his ears.

”Mate.”

”Huh?”

”Checkmate.” Benny blinks rapidly, embarrassed by his lack of focus, and looks down at the board. True to her word, Beth has him. She’s smiling faintly, without a trace of smugness.

She holds out her hand, and Benny shakes it. “Nice one, Harmo-“

Before he can finish, Beth pulls him across the table and kisses him, sending chess pieces flying as their lips collide. Not just lips, but hands, foreheads, teeth. She squeezes his hand so hard Benny thinks it might bruise.

He pulls away first, getting to his feet on shaky, knock-kneed legs. The heels of his boots make a soft shuffling noise as he circles the table and kneels in front of Beth.

"There." He smiles and traces a line across one of her cheekbones with his thumb. "Much better." She kisses him again, or maybe he kisses her this time, it's unclear. Everything is unclear. The first time they kissed, the first time they slept together, in New York, Benny's mind had been clouded with alcohol and chess and the amount of money he'd lost. Tonight, he should be perfectly clear-headed. He's sober as a judge. But his head is empty of thoughts, murky with Beth's perfume. Without the coffee table between them, Beth wraps her arms around Benny's neck, her hands twisting up and into his hair, that hair that she likes so much. Benny’s expert hands circle her waist, untucking her blouse so that it rides up over the small of her back, exposing her skin to the cool metal of Benny’s rings. Beth pushes him away just long enough for Benny to yank his own shirt over his head.

”You-“ He kisses her neck at the junction between her ear and her jaw. “-are-“ Slowly, scathingly, he trails kisses down her neck and along her collarbone to the hollow of her throat. “-the-“ Beth lifts his chin with one finger until Benny’s face is once again even with hers. “-most-“

”Spit it out, Benny,” she says breathlessly.

”You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Beth sucks in a breath, apparently taken aback. It’s unlike him, to make grand, sweeping statements like that. But then, Benny has felt unlike himself since the day she beat him, and grand, sweeping statements are the only ones that seem to fit Beth. Before she can reply, before she can poke fun or embarrass him more than he’s already embarrassed himself tonight, Benny slides one arm under her legs and the other around her waist and lifts her with surprising ease for someone of his stature. As he carries her up the stairs, Beth leans her head against his chest. For not the first time. Benny wishes he could stop time, like hitting the button on a chess clock, but he can't. He can only push forward, up the stairs and into the bedroom, with Beth directing him. It's a much nicer bedroom than his in New York, decorated in noisy florals. Benny releases her, sending Beth tumbling onto the bed, giggling like a maniac. As he lets himself fall on top of her, time does stop, the late sun freezing just over the horizon, its burnt-orange glow casting Beth and Benny’s shadows in long black streaks across the room. The clock, the one that has been running ever since New York, stops ticking. These minutes, however few or many they may be, don’t count. These are minutes they have fought for and won, and as Beth tugs gently on his hair, they will take up every last second that they can, before a button is pushed and the clock starts again.

”Smoke?” Beth reaches blindly for the pack of cigarettes on her bedside table.

”Nah.” To his surprise, when Benny declines, she stops her reach. He tucks his arm and looks over at her. She stares up at the ceiling, almost in that same way she does sometimes during games. He doesn’t know what she’s doing when she does that, and he’s never asked. After a minute, she seems to realize that he’s staring and rolls onto her side so that they face each other. It’s déjà vu when she reaches over to brush a strand of hair off his forehead.

”You still like my hair?” he asks, and honestly can’t decide if he’s joking or not. Beth rolls her eyes.

”Depends. Are you about to tell me to play the Sicilian?” Now Benny can’t tell if she’s joking or not.

”That was a mistake.”

”I know.”

”I’m sorry, honestly, I-“

”Benny, it’s-“

”No, wait. Please. Let me finish.” She raises her eyebrows in that way she does when she’s irritated, but doesn’t say anything more. “You deserved better from me. In pretty much every way imaginable.” As he speaks, Benny’s hand rests on her hip, his thumb gently stroking her smooth skin. “We slept together before and I couldn’t talk about anything except for chess. Only, that’s not because chess was all I was thinking about, it’s-“ He’s frustrated now, with himself, and rolls onto his back. Beth settles into the sheets, staring at him from under her messy hair. “I talk about chess all the time. Not because it’s the only thing I know anything about, or because it’s the only thing that interests me. I know a lot about a lot of things, and I can talk about them all. I talk about chess all the time because it’s the only thing that’s ever come easily to me. In my brain, chess makes sense, and my feelings don’t.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he talks, and avoids looking at her, instead looking up at the dome light over the bed. “It’s not a very good excuse, but it’s all I’ve got. If I... if I could have told then how beautiful you looked that night in my apartment, and what I- well, what I couldn’t say even tonight, how I’d lose every game I ever played for the rest of my life just to hold you in my arms like that again, I would have. But I don’t understand that feeling. It doesn’t click in my brain the way chess does. I can’t see the outcomes and prepare a defense. I was entirely at your mercy, Elizabeth Harmon, and I cannot make any sense of why or how.”

“Every game?” Beth asks, and Benny turns back to look at her.

”What?”

”You said you’d have lost every game you played for the rest of your life. Just to hold me like that again. Every game? Really?” She smiles, and it makes Benny equally annoyed and amused.

”Well, looking back, that was obviously irrational. I need a livelihood, after all.” Her smile widens.

”Irrationality is good, I think.”

”Yeah, I don’t know. Sometimes I think I’m safer just thinking rationally.”

”Are you serious?”

”Yes, I’m serious.”

”You just gave me that whole big speech about feelings, and now you’re saying what? That you’re too scared of any feelings bigger than your love for chess?”  


”Well, when you put it like that-“ Beth shoves him away, a little too hard, and swings her legs over the side of the bed so that Benny is staring at her back. 

“You amaze me,” she says, her voice tinged with bitter laughter.

”Beth-“

”I’m going to go get a glass of water.” She gets up, rocking the bed a little, and finds a set of silk pajamas in a drawer. Benny watches her pick her way across the floor, dodging their discarded clothing as she goes. He sits up and wraps his arms around his knees, shivering as the sheets slip away. Why did he have to go and say that? Why did he have to go and say anything? It was one thing to tell her what he wishes he’d said. Impulsive, yes, and stupid, but honest and vulnerable and at the very least intentional. And then he let her go and think that. That his fear of irrationality and his feelings for her are somehow the same thing. He doesn’t understand why Beth makes him feel the way she does, but he’s not afraid of that. No more afraid than he is when he learns a new opening. He’s afraid of what those feelings make him do, like driving eleven hours to another state and the urge to sacrifice every game he plays for the rest of his life.  


”Okay, moron,” he says aloud. “What do you do now?” Below him, muffled through the floor, he can hear the sink run and then shut off. His clock is running, and he has to make a move, some kind of move. First, though, he has to get out of bed and find his pants, which he does. The stairs creak under him as he descends. It’s fully dark outside now, the street lit only by a series of electric lamps. The living room light is off, and Benny creeps in, wrapping his arms around himself. He can hear Beth pacing around the kitchen, but she doesn’t seem to hear him. He doesn’t want her to, anyway. Not yet. On a side table is a phonograph, and next to it is a stack of records. Benny flips through them, looking for something he recognizes. He finds a Frankie Valli album and puts it on. After a moment of static, “Can’t Take My Eyes off You” begins to play.

”What are you doing?” He turns to see Beth in the doorway, still holding her empty glass. Benny ignores the question and holds out a hand, the dim light through the window glinting off his rings.

”Dance with me.”

”I’m not really a dancer.”

”I know. Dance with me anyway.” With an amused reluctance, Beth joins him on the carpet, setting her glass on the coffee table.  


”Do you even know how to dance?” Benny takes one of her hands in his, moves the other to his shoulder, and then slips his other hand around to the small of her back.

”My parents sent my sister to dance class when I was little. She used to come home from class and drag me away from the chess board and try to teach me whatever she learned that day.”

”They taught us a little at Methuen,” Beth says, her voice tinged with melancholy. “Once. In etiquette class. Just in case.”

”In case of what?”

”No idea.” Benny has never heard her talk about Methuen before. ”You were right, you know.”

”About what?”

”That wasn’t a very good excuse.” He flinches as if she’s just hit him.

”If it helps, I’m sorry for how I spoke to you on the phone, too.” Beth shakes her head.

”No. That one’s my fault. A thousand dollars is a lot of money and I had no right to ask for it when all you’d done was try to help me.”

”I did try to help you. The only way I knew how.”

”And I can’t really fault you for that, can I?” She leans into him, and Benny’s breath catches in his throat. “I came to you for help, and you gave it. You were the one person trying to keep my head on straight. Everything else, the pills, the booze, the sex- you were trying your damndest to pull me away and I let myself get sucked in anyway.”

”Yeah, well. We all have our vices, those things that interrupt whatever we should be doing. I gamble. A lot.” Benny rarely talks about his gambling habits, but he knows as well as Beth does that that’s how all his winnings slip through the cracks. “How long’s it been since you had a drink?” he asks.

”Three days. At least. I can’t quite remember. And I flushed the tranquilizers in Moscow.”

”Good. Good for you.”

”How long since you bet on speed chess?”

”Not since you left for Moscow. It’s dumb, I-“ he lets out a breathless laugh to cover the crack in his voice. “I thought maybe I could win you the thousand dollars.”

”From speed chess? Benny-“

”Dumb, I know. But I think... I think maybe it wasn’t about the gambling anymore. I don’t think that’s really my vice anymore.”

”What is?”

”You.” He kisses her, and she kisses back.

”Really? Not the game?” Benny shakes his head.

”Chess isn’t a vice. It’s not a bad habit. It’s a calling.”

”And me? Am I a bad habit?”

”You were. When I was supposed to be coaching you. But you outrank me now.”

”Don’t sell yourself short.”

”Oh, trust me, I’m coming for your title again next year. But my point is that I was supposed to be helping you and I let you down when I let myself feel for you. But now-“ He raises his arm and Beth twirls under it. “-you don’t need my help, and I’m not offering it. Right now, there’s nothing bad about this habit. Not at all.” They sway side-to-side in the darkened living room, Frankie Valli’s high, raspy voice echoing through the empty house.

”I’m glad you came, Benny.”

”So am I.”

”How did you even get here?”

”I left at six o’clock this morning.”

”That’s early for you.”

”Well, I figured you would still be doing things in D.C. for most of the day and you would get home late in the afternoon. I had to time it so that I wouldn’t be waiting for hours until you got here.”

”Sharp analysis.”

”Why, thank you.” Beth squeezes Benny’s hand, gentler than she had earlier.  


”You could stay here,” she says, suddenly quiet. “I have a room you could stay in, or-“ Clearing her throat, she glances down at the floor. “You can do whatever. We both travel a lot, so I don’t know how much of a difference it would make, but it would be nice to see you when I’m home and not just at tournaments.”

”It is nice here,” Benny says, not just to be polite. “Idyllic. I understand why people came back from the war and wanted to live in places like this to raise families, or whatever it is normal people do.”

”I’m not suggesting we get married and have kids, Benny.” She ruffles his hair, and Benny finds it easy to laugh.

”I know you’re not. Really.”

”But we might be happy here.”

”We might be. Or we might get bored. Idle hands are the devil’s playground, or whatever it is they say.”

”True. There isn’t much to do for a cerebral pair like the two of us in a town like this.”

”You could come to New York.” It’s the same offer he made after the U.S. Championships last year, at least on the surface. That was a temporary offer, a few weeks in New York before she left for Paris. This is an offer of a home, an existence intertwined with another person’s, an offer of dependence from one loner to another. Benny makes this offer with full knowledge of its implications, and looking down at Beth, knows that she knows the same thing.

“And what, live in that tiny basement apartment with you?”

“Well, you’ve got some money saved up, and if you sold this place, you’d have some pretty hefty savings that we-“ He coughs. “-I mean you could use to get a nicer place.”

”Oh?”

”It was just a thought.”

”A decent one, I’ll admit. I like New York, but I like it here. And this...” She gestures at the room around them. The song on the phonograph draws to a close and they’re left in silence. “This was my mother’s house. The first real home I ever lived in. I bought it from Mr. Wheatley with the money I won. My life as a chess player is tied into this house. I don’t know if I can leave.”

”You could always keep the house. Move in with me until you decide what to do.”

”I could. But I have to admit that it’s fun sometimes, not knowing when I’m going to see you.”

”More fun than having me right here all the time?” Beth rolls her eyes and pushes him away. Benny stumbles backwards, crashing into the sofa so that he falls back onto it, laughing all the while. Beth flops down next to him and rests her head on his shoulder.

”I do want you with me. All the time. I should have gone back to New York after Paris, but my stupid ego-“ She shakes her head. “Anyway, I think having you with me is a good thing. I drink less. I don’t feel like I need the pills. I play the game the best I ever have and I have fun with it.” She shifts her weight so that she faces Benny, and he feels the air suck out of his lungs. “I may not need a trainer anymore, but I need a friend.”

”A friend?” He raises his eyebrows.

”You know what I mean.” She runs her fingers through his hair just as she did that night months ago.

”So? Are you coming back to New York with me?” Beth considers this briefly, but seems to have already made up her mind.

”I’ll come to New York for three weeks. There’s a tournament in Miami next month.”

”I saw. I was planning on heading down there.”

”We can fly down together then. Or drive. Whatever. Afterwards, I’ll come back here. I need to take care of the house. If you want to come with me, you can. If you don’t, we can figure it out.”

”I have to head back in the morning. I didn’t bring anything with me. Will you be ready to go then?”

”I think so.”

“We should get some sleep, then.”

”Yeah.” Neither of them moved.  


”I’ve been up since five.”

”Yeah.” Beth leans over and kisses him, taking Benny by surprise. He’s not really sure why, it’s far from their first kiss, but there’s something different about this one. It’s laced with promises, which neither of them have been able to make, and still cannot say out loud. There are other things left unsaid too, things that Benny doesn’t fully understand yet. He will understand them, once he plays them through in his mind, examining possible moves and possible outcomes. It is very much like a game of chess in that respect. If he can memorize it, if he can learn it, he can understand it.

”One more game?” He gestures at the board on the coffee table, still set up in Beth’s last move.

”Really? You’re ready to get your ass kicked again?” Benny winks and gets up. He sets up the black pieces for himself this time.

”Who says you’re going to kick my ass?”

”The World Championship trophy on my desk.”

”Stop gloating and set up your pieces, Harmon.” He sits on the floor and levels his chin on his interlocked fingers. Beth looks across the table at him from under her bangs. Her eyes flick to the clock beside them. Benny reaches over and pushes down the button on his side, starting hers. Without thinking, Beth makes her first move. Pawn to k4. “The Sicilian? Really?”

”Move, Benny.” This is the first of many games they will play, not just for the next few weeks, but for the rest of their lives. When Beth taps her side of the clock, starting Benny’s move, it is not just the start of a game. It is the start of a new era of understanding for a man who had thought nothing could matter to him more than chess. He was wrong, and that is painfully clear as Benny moves a pawn of his own. Chess will never matter less to him, it can’t, not when it has ruled his life for so long, but it’s possible- no, not just possible, but obvious that Beth occupies his mind in a way nothing and no one else has since Benny first learned how to play chess.

”Benny?”

”Hm?” He blinks rapidly, having lost focus.

”Your turn.” His hand floats over his pieces, frozen in mid-air. This choice, this move, doesn’t seem to hold as much gravity as it usually does when he plays players like Beth (although there are no players like Beth out there, not anymore.) Perhaps they do not feel quite so monumental because it matters less whether he wins or loses against her. He’d still like to win, but for the first time ever, Benny feels that maybe winning is not quite so consequential as just being here with her. It amazes him to no end. They are just two people, relatively unchanged from who they have always been, but who are finally beginning to understand exactly what they mean to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first queen’s gambit fic, but I’m quite proud of it. if you enjoyed it, please leave a comment, I promise you it makes my day as a writer. thank you so much for reading :)


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